Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 6 M/F Story

September 7, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Arosa sat still for the long ride to Wallace’s Fish Camp. David seemed speechless, but that was fine for the moment. Arosa had her own thoughts to contend with, and they were quite enough. Apparently, the theme for the day had not yet finished.

Presently, Arosa was remembering the plots and plans they had made.

“With the Emperor so preoccupied in Gwarhor and in the West, now is the time to strike for freedom.” That was Arosa’s own father who said that. Her mother was quiet, but in full accord. Her Great Uncle Festus, as Captain-General of the ships of Nova, Admiral as Arosa translated in her mind, he shouted “Here! Here!” or the equivalent in the tongue of Nova. Dunovan was more thoughtful.

“With our combined fleets we can rule in the Southern Sea.” He said. “But on land, we must all hang together or we will surely all hang separately.”

Arosa shook her head. That was from the American Revolution, but the sentiment was the same. Poor, brave, sweet, senseless Dunovan.

A tear came to Arosa’s eye.

She remembered that last time she saw Dunovan, all dressed for war in glittering chain and shining bronze. Such a glorious knight he was, and what devotion he had from every man who followed him to their doom. She cried for days when word came. Poor Lila was almost neglected, and would have been if not for the nurse and the faithful, loving servants that surrounded her. Arosa tried to turn her mind from her memory of Dunovan, thinking that her serious thoughts about David was bringing it all to the surface; but apparently the vision-like moment was not done.

She remembered the messenger, every speck of dirt on the man’s clothes, every drop of sweat on the man’s broad forehead; how he had ridden all night with the news and run up the great castle steps with tears in his own eyes. Her Mother and Father were poisoned. Her great uncle was ruined at sea and would not be coming back. The Empire was in Nova and her unremarkable second cousin Verko, a sixteen-year-old boy with no ambition whatsoever, had been installed on the throne. The boy would do as he was told and he was closest to the throne, after her. Apparently, the Emperor Kzurga had no intention of having her return to Nova, and she dared not stay in Truscas. It would be her death, certain.

She remembered all of the hints her mother-in-law Callista dropped into everyday conversation. She should go away. She was not of the right blood to rule in Truscas, even if her daughter was. She should find another home to spend her days. Of course, none of it was said in so many words, but it was the sentiment. Arosa would have to have been an ignorant fool not to know this.

But it was not for Callista’s sake that she found this world and came to this place of exile. It was for the people. Arosa was part of the rebellion, even if only a little part. The Emperor might have forgiven her for her part in the conspiracy, but she could not count on that. Truscas was in danger of invasion as long as she stayed the Queen. Barten-Cur came from the house of Nova, sought her out, and together, they ran. She said nothing, though, because Callista would have certainly tried to kidnap Lila and keep her in hiding.

They arrived at the fish camp and Arosa stepped out of the car almost before David turned off the engine. She did not want him to see her cry. Not just yet.

“Are you all right?” David asked kindly.

“David.” Arosa hesitated for one last moment, and then she made up her mind. Before we go any further in this relationship, there is something you need to know.” He was about to say something stupid so she spoke first. “I’m not from this world.”

David paused. He looked at her closely. “From the way you are dressed.” He started to make a joke, but then he pulled himself up as tall as he could stand. “I think I can almost believe you. You are much too beautiful for a small Georgia town.”

Arosa smiled. That was not exactly true, but she did not mind hearing it. Still, she felt she had to tell him and that feeling came with an urgency she did not understand. She took his hand and walked him to the side of the parking lot where no one would go. She stopped there and raised her hands, the magic flowing from her fingers. A bubble-like structure surrounded them, which would muffle any sounds they made and make them all but invisible to any eyes that were not on top of them. Then she turned to David and let her wings out, pushing them slowly against the air until she was hovering about three feet from the ground. David looked scared for a moment, but he calmed a little when she spoke. “I have a story to tell you, over dinner if you don’t mind. I’m starving.” She landed, burst the bubble with a thought, took David’s arm and led him to the door before he could raise a protest.

————

Barten-Cur imagined there was a kind of orchestrated madness going on in the gym. It had been used during the day, of course, so it could not be decorated for the dance until after school. Jessica and her eighth grade “in-crowd,” Mindy, Savannah and Shakira were putting up streamers. The wannabes, Brittany, Nichole and Molly were plastering the walls with Halloween motifs. Coach Beemer had the four prime members of the eighth grade football team setting up chairs and a few tables. There was Tyler Hamm, the quarterback, Alex the center, Brad the linebacker, and Colin the defensive end. They were in practice uniforms, and Barten-Cur guessed those uniforms would be doubling for their Halloween costumes at the dance.

Barten-Cur held his ears for a minute. “Sorry. Sorry.” Mister Deal, the music teacher was setting the volume for the music and testing the equipment.

“I should think so!” Ms Gloria Finster, the art teacher, shouted from the refreshment table. “I almost dropped the punch.” She was emptying orange soda and fruit punch into a big bowl. It was supposed to end up pumpkin color, but in truth it was more the color of Georgia red clay-mud.

Ms Addams, Language Arts and Mister Johnson, Social Studies, chose that moment to enter from the Cafeteria side, carrying trays of cookies.

“I don’t dress.” Mister Johnson was saying.

Barten stared for a minute at Ms Addams. She was maybe twenty-five, and by far the prettiest woman at the school, after the Princess, to be sure.

“But you have so many good choices to choose from.” She was arguing with the older man.

“Dead white men.” Mister Johnson complained.

“All right, then. Fredrick Douglass, Martin Luther King. Someone!”

“I don’t do Halloween. I don’t dress.” Mister Johnson insisted.

“Bob and Emily are coming as a disco couple.” Ms Finster spoke up from the punch bowl. She was talking about the math and science teachers. “Isn’t that cute?”

“I don’t do cute, either.” Mister Johnson said, but he almost smiled by accident as he said it.

“Excuse me.” Barten-Cur heard a voice behind him and he had to step aside. He had been blocking the door and Ms Ramirez the Spanish teacher wanted in. She was followed by a half-dozen seventh graders, Nate and Karen, fat Brian, and Maria who could hardly speak any English. Coach Beemer had his eyes open, though, and he immediately came up to Adam, a rather large young man for the seventh grade.

“So Adam.” The coach said. “Thought any more about football?” He was a direct kind of person. Adam was not in the mood.

“I don’t know.” He hedged.

Shakira came up looking for her cousin. “Where’s Tasha?” She asked. Tasha had it bad for big Adam.

“I don’t know.” Adam repeated himself.

Ms Finster shouted out from the refreshment table. “Come to help?”

“No.” Adam answered for them all. “We’re just passing through.” He tried to hide among his fellow seventh graders, but his head towered over the others, as they all waited on Ms Ramirez.

“We’re about done anyway.” Ms Finster admitted.

“Who let the peons in here?” Jessica asked in a superior tone, referring to the seventh graders in general. She was halfway up a ladder and turned for a good look.

“Don’t touch them.” Mindy said. “You might catch something.”

“No telling where they’ve been.” Savannah added.

The seventh graders looked at each other, but that just made the girls laugh. Brittany stepped forward from the window, however, and just had to say something.

“Come on, Jessica. Get off your high horse.”

“Is pickle face talking to me?” Jessica responded. Brittany’s mom had the bad sense to dress her daughter as a pickle in the first grade. It was a cute costume at the time; but now that Brittany was of an age where things were beginning to break out on her face for real, Jessica thought it was a good time to remind everyone of that costume. Brittany fumed, but she said nothing knowing that it would have only made matters worse. She left, red angry, and Nichole and Molly followed.

“See you at six.” Ms Finster shouted after them, hoping to turn everyone’s thoughts from Jessica’s cruel words, but it did not really help. Jessica laughed and climbed the rest of the ladder.

“Tyler!” Jessica called sweetly to the quarterback. “Hand me the streamer.” Barten-Cur noticed the streamer extended to the foot of the ladder, but Tyler was not paying attention. He moved when Ms Ramirez left with the seventh graders in her train. He reached the streamer and handed it up. Jessica took one look down at that ugly, wart-face and screamed. She kept on screaming, too, until everyone came and Barten-Cur finally put down the streamer and walked away. Of course, Jessica claimed that she had merely been startled by the custodian’s face, but if that was true, one scream would have been enough.

“Sorry Mister Cur.” Tom Deal, the music teacher, took in on himself to speak for everyone; but then they all had to focus on Jessica, which was all Jessica really wanted.

————

Barten-Cur went over to the window, not giving the attitude of the girl a second thought. Because of his appearance, he had been treated that way his whole life; even back in the old world. Then, he remembered! He rushed out of the gym and shot for his pick-up. The drive was short, but by the time he arrived at the house, everyone was gone.

Barten locked the front door, Lila having forgotten again, and he stood on the front porch for a long time pondering what to do. All he could envision was Truscan soldiers invading the school, and people getting hurt. Seventh and Eighth graders were in no position to defend themselves, he thought. To be sure, there were only a dozen places in town to eat out, and half of them were fast food restaurants. Barten-Cur could have found his Princess easily enough, but he did not think of that. He was worried about Lila, if the soldiers came. He guessed they would be looking for her, and Arosa, but Lila especially had no one else to look after her. He made up his mind.

He went to his apartment and retrieved a potion he had made some time ago. “To keep in practice.” He told himself. He had intended it for the Wallabys’ dogs, thinking they would do less damage to the property as squirrels, but he never used it. Lady Arosa said he was not to do magic except in extreme emergency, like if Lila’s life was in danger. Well, this counted, but he would have to be careful about it so as not to get in trouble.

One Writer’s mid-week Writing Secrets 1: Tell a Story.

September 1, 2009September 2, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Sorry, I don’t have a link but I would recommend reading the Wall Street Journal, Saturday/Sunday, August 29-30, page W3 in the culture section. The article is by Lev Grossman, and it is titled: Storytelling. Good Books Don’t Have to Be Hard. And it is subtitled: A novelist on the pleasure of reading stories that don’t bore… My response is: Amen. Whether you are writing fiction or embarked on some journalistic enterprise (or writing journalistic-fiction which is all too common these days) it helps to have a story!

Grossman blames our view of what constitutes “great writing” (literature) on the modernists in the 1920s who objected to the Victorian novels that tied everything up in a nice, neat ending. Faced with all of the changes that came with modern life, these authors said, (recognized) that life did not work out in nice and neat ways, and so they produced such works as “Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” “The Age of Innocence,” “Ulysses,” “A Passage to India,” “The Sun Also Rises,” “A Farewell to Arms,” “The Sound and the Fury,” and so on. These all may be great books in their way, but the truth is (and Grossman says it well) they are too hard on the reader. As he points out, “imagine what it felt like the first time somebody opened up “The Waste Land” and saw that it came with footnotes.”

To be sure, all of these great works by great writers have produced in us a sense that quality writing must be like theirs: “Mainstream” or “Literary;” yet, like the impressionist painters that revolutionized the art world, they have had their day. The day of the “Mainstream” or “Literary” novel (so-called) is over. To put it more succinctly: modern literature had its time and place, but we are now living in a post modern age.

Thank goodness story is making a comeback. Clearly, story is what readers want. As Grossman points out, “Sales of young adult books (where the unblushing embrace of storytelling is allowed) are up 30.7% so far this year (through June)… while adult hardcovers are down 17.8%. Nam Lee’s “The Boat,” one of the best reviewed books of fiction in 2008 has sold 16,000 copies in hardcover and trade paperback according to Nielsen Bookscan… (while) the author of the “Twilight” series, Stephanie Meyer, sold eight million.”

My point would be that it pays to have a story to tell. Readers want this. Writers – Serious Writers are discovering this. Agents and Publishers are a little slower, but I believe they will follow the money. My hope is that someday maybe even the reviewers will catch up.

You remember story: Beginning, middle and End. Yes, I said end. True, these days we might not wrap everything up in a neat Victorian ribbon. (The lessons of the modernists were valid to some extent). In our day, Scrooge might have a relapse. (We would call that a sequel). But still, a story ought to have some resolution, some conclusion; it needs to reach a point where one can honestly type: THE END. It should no longer be acceptable to end a story, “because my fingers got tired of typing so I went to bed.”

“But what of Great Literature and true Stream of Consciousness writing, and etc.?” As Jessica would say, with a snap of her gum, a click of her tongue and a roll of her eyes, “That is so last century!”

Writing Tip 1:

Tell a story. Tell a good story. Grab the reader. Take them through whatever twists or turns exist, and when you are done, let them go. This can still be great literature, and I believe it will be how the future sees literature. You can say all you want to say about life, liberty and the pursuit in a story. You can make great points, Dickens did, but first of all make it a good read, because if it is good enough, along with lasting beyond the lifetime of a blog, someone just might pay you for it.

— Michael

Series: Tales of the Other Earth Tale: Halloween Story part 4 M/F Story

September 1, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Lila was in the Library last period for study hall, where no one ever studied. Presently, she was staring out the window. There was a war was going on. The school color guard, the ones who would do ROTC in High School were struggling to practice, lifting heavy white-washed wooden guns with sweaty hands and marching in step to music which was considerably better than the High School band. Lila was sure Aaron and Missy were set on the Navy. Aaron was the captain of the team, though, and Lila felt that Missy might just be following him around. Ricky and Tamika, on the other hand, were both clearly interested in the Marines. Curiously, both would have to lose some weight, she thought.

There were also two seventh graders. Lila had to think for a minute before coming up with the names Kate and Warren. She shrugged. They were seventh graders, and they looked it.

Aaron broke off the drill to go to the parking lot. Bob was in the lot, ignoring whatever class he was supposed to be in, blasting gangsta rap, and Celeste was laughing at something. Owen was there with Terry clinging to him like a leech, and Kyle, poor hormone crazy, sex maniac Kyle was right with them. God help the eighth grade.

Lila tried to listen, but since she could not hear through the glass, she had to imagine Aaron was yelling at Bob to turn it down. The hip-hop music was seriously crimping the drill, but Bob and Celeste just laughed. God, how Lila hated the middle school games!

There was an interruption in the war. The three primo seventh graders, Anna, Lisa and Elizabeth were walking by, ignoring everything and everyone, except Kyle was not about to let them pass without making a pass. Lila saw Anna turn toward the other two, and she looked red-faced because of whatever Kyle said. It looked like Lisa responded while Elizabeth stuck her nose up and wanted nothing to do with the eighth grader. Who would? The boy was running amok, Lila decided.

“Ahem!” Lila’s mom was shelving something and Lila snapped to attention, looking at her textbook, though not really focusing. She would recognize that “Ahem!” anywhere. It was not a good thing having your mother as school librarian, at least not very often.

“Kyle is a weirdo.” Ginger whispered.

“What?” Morgan missed it.

“He said something to the seventh grade wannabes.” Lila explained. “Probably something stupid.” She added, though it was unnecessary. Morgan’s mouth was already forming an understanding “O,” when Mary pointed.

“Tom and Rachel.” Mary said, and all heads turned. Mary and Eddie were on again – off again. Donna and Bobby were also a couple, though they were never much together, like they were still checking things out about being a boy and a girl together. Tom and Rachel, on the other hand, seemed to have settled things nicely. They were not holding hands, exactly, but they might as well have been. Morgan sighed. She was interested in Jordan, admitting it one day and denying it the next; but Lila had learned, under strict confidence, that both Morgan and Jordan were coming to the Halloween dance as pirates.

“No place to hide there.” Lila said, half out loud, which solicited another “Ahem!” from the peanut gallery.

“This is study time, not window time.” Lila’s mom reminded the girls, and they got quiet for a minute, though none of them so much as glanced at their books.

“Got it.” Jennifer spoke almost too loud as she came over and sat at the table, a big book in her hand. “The gang at the geek table said this book has everything we need for our project.”

“Great.” Ginger sighed, and Morgan nodded in agreement, but Lila craned her neck to look at the geek table. She trusted George well enough, and Shirley, she supposed. Shirley had been a friend since kindergarten. Ethan was a bit on the crazy side. Maybe he was hormoning, too, just expressing it differently from Kyle. But then there was Lucy. Lucy was the class clown, and not technically one of the geeks. Lila looked at the book and wondered if maybe Lucy had really picked it out. It was not that Lucy was untrustworthy, but she would do anything for a laugh, and that might include making Lila and her friends spend hours in a book which had nothing they needed at all. Lila decided to check it out with her mom, and she snatched up the book and went to the desk. That was OK, because no one was looking at the book just yet. There was too much going on outside the window.

Mary spoke up while Lila was with her mom. “Eddie and I broke up again.” She said.

“Is that good?” Morgan asked. She always asked while Jennifer and Ginger made their usual comments. “Too bad,” and, “Good for you.”

“No, it’s not good.” Mary said. “I got my Princess costume all ready. Eddie was coming as Red Rayder.” They were characters from a video game

“Wear it anyway.” Jennifer insisted.

“Yeah.” Ginger agreed. “Let Red Rayder worry about it.”

“I heard Bobby and Donna broke up, too.” Morgan said.

“Were they ever a couple?” Mary wondered.

Jennifer shrugged while Morgan added a note. “Low class trailer bums.”

“Speaking of low class.” Ginger interrupted and pointed.

Shannah and Kylie came in talking up a storm on their cell phones. The seventh graders, Vanessa and Lori followed, in awe of the older rich girls who modeled new outfits every day and acted like they owned the world. In fact, Lila said so to her mother, but with one addition.

“They act like they own everything but have no idea what to do with it.”

“Hush.” Arosa scolded her daughter, softly, and came out from behind the desk, her hand open. Shannah and Kylie acted all put out, but they handed over the cells to be picked up when the day ended. They were not permitted in school, after all. The eighth graders went one direction, and the seventh graders went another, but sat where they could keep an eye on their eighth grade models.

*****

Arosa slipped the phones in a drawer while her daughter went back to her table. Arosa looked at the clock. The day was nearly over, and she had her date with David on her mind. Was she doing the right thing? He was the first man she had been able to get close to, after her adopted dad, of course, but there were things about her that David did not know. Then again, did she want to get close to him? It would mean roots that might be hard to break; but then, she reminded herself for the millionth time that she would probably never be able to go home.

She closed the drawer with the phones in it and had another thought. How might things have turned out differently if she had such devices in her own world? She looked at Lila and was struck with the notion that Lila might never know the world in which she was born. It was sad to think it. She remembered the day Lila came into the world. Those had been happy days.

“And what shall we call this marvel?” Dunovan had asked. He was so proud of her, and she was so happy for him.

“Lila, sweet.” Arosa said.

“Is that one word or two?” Dunovan asked as if serious. They had already discussed names and Lila had already been decided for a girl, but Arosa gladly played along.

“One word.” She said with a serious expression on her face, and he laughed, and that made her laugh, too. She so seldom heard him laugh, and he had such a wonderful, take your breath away, full of joy kind of laughter that she longed to hear again and again. She sighed. While those were happy days, they were short lived. The Empire was bearing down too hard.

Arosa remembered the poverty in the streets of Enteras, the port city and capitol of the land. It was worse outside the city, and no better up the coast in her home of Nova. The Emperor Kzurga was taking every man, weapon and speck of grain he could for wars in the North and West. The poor people were all but killing themselves in the fields and hills only to go hungry in winter. Though they lived far enough in the south to plant winter wheat as well as summer rye and barley, the climate being more like Florida, though not too different from Georgia, it was never enough for either the Emperor’s collectors or the people. They had to do something. Arosa understood that, even if it left her in a self-imposed exile. She knew they had to try.

She recalled Dunovan’s mother, Callista the cold as Arosa had come to think of her. The woman wanted nothing to do with rebellion. The others ignored her. Arosa found that odd because it was not that they distrusted the woman. When Arosa confronted her Mother-in-law, it was because of her lack of understanding. She tried to get the woman to explain herself on three separate occasions, but it was not until they found themselves unexpectedly alone, a condition that both of them had previously tried hard to avoid, that the woman opened up for the first and only time.

“I will do nothing against you all. Technically, I have no power here. It is all vested in the King, my son, your husband. But someone must be free of taint just in case this rebellion of yours should not succeed. I will not see my land under the thumb of some governor appointed by that madman, Kzurga. So tell me nothing of your plans. Tell me nothing at all. Officially, I know nothing, and what I know I must speak against. If we succeed, my words will not matter. If we fail, I may be the only hope for peace in this place. Now I must leave before we are compromised.” And she left, Arosa feeling very uncomfortable about it all.

*****

The Bell rang.

In seconds, the seventh grade geeks came in, loudly, and headed straight for the geek table. Then the boys arrived, and Lila and her friends hurried to pack their books away.

Chris and Peter sat down by Lila and Jennifer. It was a mutually acceptable arrangement of indecisiveness, partly because Lila, and especially Jennifer were both taller than the boys for the present. Nelson sat across from Ginger who ignored him very readily. “I’m coming as Max Man, with my stuffed dog Maxamillian.” Nelson was saying. They were cartoon characters.

“Figures.” Jordan said, nudging his friend as he sat, but neither he nor Morgan would look at each other. It was another unspoken, temporary agreement. At least they never looked at each other when the others were around. Meanwhile, Eddie, alias Red Rayder, sat next to Mary, alias Princess Ashanti. They spoke quietly for a minute and the others had the good sense not to interrupt, though they all listened. The result was, Eddie and Mary became a couple again. Then Lila’s mom came and shooed them out. They were supposed to go home for supper. The Halloween dance was not scheduled until six, and besides, Arosa had plans of her own.

Series: The Other Earth. Tale: Halloween Story part 3. M/F Story

August 28, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

“Morning Dad.” Arosa said as she set a bowl of oatmeal in front of Wendel Carter and kissed his balding head. She walked to the stairs. “Lila, hurry up! You’ll be late for school.”

“I don’t like oatmeal.” Wendel complained, grumpily.

“High cholesterol gets you oatmeal for breakfast.” Arosa said as she stepped back to the refrigerator to pour Lila a glass of orange juice. She paused when she realized the man was staring at her. “What?”

“Best thing I ever did, adopting you and Lila. Even if you treat me like a doddering old fool.” He smiled. Arosa thought that deserved another kiss and she planted one on his forehead this time as she set down the orange juice for Lila. She stuck her head out the back door.

“Barten!” She shouted at the apartment above the garage. She did not see Barten’s pick-up. “Dad?” She asked, turning.

Wendel was in mid bite. “Mmm.” He swallowed quickly. “Barten said he had to get some things done at the High School so he could be free to act as custodian for the Middle School party this evening. He left extra early.”

Arosa nodded, but her mind had already moved on to the next issue. She was back at the foot of the stairs. “Lila!”

“I’ll be right down, Mom.” Lila shouted back. “Sheesh!” She said to herself. She took off the blue top for the second time and put on the lavender one. Mom didn’t like the lavender one. She said it was too revealing, but Lila was thirteen and she decided she could make her own decisions. She looked at herself in the mirror, and then slipped on a sweater. Sometimes it got cool the last day in October, even in Browning, Georgia; so she justified the sweater and skipped down the stairs.

“Thirteen, going on thirty.” Arosa breathed while her daughter smiled as if she did not have a care in the world.

“All posh.” Wendel said.

“Morning Grandpa.” Lila kissed his balding spot. In many ways, including her beauty, Lila was very much like her mother, though neither would admit it. Lila sat and sipped her juice.

“The purple top?” Arosa noticed despite the sweater. Lila ignored her.

“You going out with Mister Correll tonight?” Lila asked, changing the subject.

Arosa frowned but said no more about the top. “Yes. But I’ll be back at the school before the dance is over.” She promised.

Lila looked at her Grandfather who looked back at her and grinned. “Oh, I don’t know about that guy.” Lila and her Grandfather more or less spoke together. It was the phrase Arosa was using lately whenever Lila appeared to show interest in a young man, not that Lila was really interested in anyone, yet.

Arosa looked at them with steel in her eyes. “David Correll is a nice gentleman.” She said. “Besides, I’m thirty-two, not thirteen.” She tweaked her daughter’s nose. “And I’m not exactly the young girl, lost and alone in a strange land anymore.” She added that for Wendel.

“What do I know?” Wendel stood, his oatmeal unfinished. “I just live here.” He went for his briefcase, which he had left in the living room.

“And you, young lady. Ride to school?” Arosa asked while she emptied Wendel’s dish and set it in the dishwasher.

Lila shook her head. “Ginger and Jennifer will be by any minute. We’re walking”

“All right.” Arosa said as she picked up her own briefcase and followed Wendel out the front door. “Don’t forget to lock up.” She shouted back as Lila waved and watched the two cars leave the driveway. Ginger and Jennifer came moments later, and Morgan was with them.

“Did your mom give you any answers for the science test?” Morgan asked.

“She’s the school librarian.” Lila responded with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “Not the science guy.”

“Only Mister Gross would have a test on Halloween.” Jennifer complained.

Morgan was shrugging. “It was worth a try.”

“How about your Grandpa?” Ginger asked hopefully, but Lila just did the eye roll and shake of the head for an answer.

“Where’s Mary?” Lila asked, as if she didn’t know.

“Walking with Eddie.” Jennifer grinned and someone giggled, and they left, all talking at once so anyone would wonder how they ever heard each other. Lila forgot to lock the door, but it was a small town in the middle of Georgia.

*****

Arosa pulled up to the light with her mind in another world. Perhaps it was her comment about no longer being a stranger in this strange land that triggered it. That and her date that evening, she told herself. She was remembering her first husband, Lila’s father, not that she had any such ideas about David. She furrowed her brow as the light changed.

Prince Dunovan had been a great man. She remembered how she felt at seventeen when they stood before the Priest on her wedding day. Dunovan looked so tall so strong, and so intimidatingly handsome. She remembered turning to her mother and father, the King and Queen of Nova, but all she saw in her father’s eyes was joy and pride, and her mother was crying. Arosa imagined she might cry if Lila married.

She looked again at the Prince. “I promise my fidelity and devotion.” He said. Could she ask for more? She looked to the Queen Mother, Callista, but the woman was stoic, as always. Would Callista like her? It was important to Arosa that Callista like her, but she did not expect it given the cool way the woman had treated her up to that point. And Dunovan’s father? He had died some five years earlier. Dunovan was formally King of Truscas. Would she manage as Queen?

“Arosa.” Dunovan spoke to her softly. She did manage to look into his eyes, and she found welcome there.

“And I will respect you, my husband.” She said, but in her heart she hoped, nay, begged to be able to love him, and be loved by him. That was the one thing she wanted. But thus it had been for ages; that the noble Lord and Lady should wed in a political union, bringing all of the lands and cities of the Bellican Coast closer for a generation. Nova and Truscas would be united, now, in mutual support and succor, as the Priest called it. And she would play her part.

Arosa sniffed as she got out of her car and headed for the Middle School library. She had loved Dunovan indeed, even if it had only been for such a short time.

*****

Barten-Cur was in his pick-up, headed for the hardware store. Stall three in the first floor girl’s room needed some real work. Lady Arosa and Mister Carter had been reluctant to let him get a driver’s license at first, but he showed them. He was a better driver and more respectful of the law than half of the natives on the roads, and that was a fact.

Something came from the woods beside the road and Barten-Cur screeched to a halt. It was a man. While that would have gone by without notice under other circumstances, this one was different. Barten-Cur could not exactly place the uniform, though he guessed it was Truscan, but this man was definitely a soldier. There was no doubt about that. And the man was staring at him.

There was a honk! Someone was behind him, and the soldier turned and trotted back into the woods Barten-Cur started driving again, but he hardly knew what to think. If they were Truscan, that might be bad enough, but if they came on behalf of the Empire, there could be real trouble. Princess Arosa had to be told at once, he thought, but he shouldn’t bother her at work. He had been reprimanded for that over and over. And she had a date tonight with Mister Correll, the High School Principal, as well. It would not do to interrupt her date. No, no, Barten thought. He would have to try and catch her in between work and going out. He hoped he would remember to get to her in time. If not, what could he do? He had to look out for Lila, above all.

Tales of the Other Earth: Halloween Story 2 M/F Story

August 21, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Wendel Carter stepped out in the early morning light, his briefcase and laptop securely in one hand and a travel mug of blessed coffee in the other. Not a week ago it was still dark in the morning when he left the house, but the spring was on, and another school year would be over before he knew it. He made for the car, but some motion down by the brook caught his eye. At first he thought the Wallabys let their dogs loose again. Browning was a small town, but there were leash laws in the town limits, even if the Wallabys did not like it. Then he heard the arguing. A man and woman were into it. He did not understand a word of what they were saying. It did not sound like English or Spanish, but he knew an argument when he heard one. “Sounds like the school board.” He mumbled to himself. He paused when he got a good look, and the man and woman paused as well when they saw him. Then Wendel nearly dropped his coffee.

The woman was dressed in a long gown of green, which set off her brilliant green eyes and rich earth colored hair that fell from the hood of her open, scarlet cloak. The hood surrounded a very young and pretty face and her hair fell almost to her waist, which was much longer than he was used to seeing. She hardly looked twenty to judge by her face and hands, but she seemed much older since she was not dressed in the kind of skanky clothes so typical of most twenty-year-old girls. She also looked older, he decided, because she had a firm grasp on the hand of what looked like a three or four-year-old; a girl who was also dressed in a gown of sorts. Indeed, they looked like they were on their way to church, and Wendel settled on some such though before he took a closer look at the man.

The man was about Wendel’s age, but like the girl, he also looked much older in certain ways. His face was ugly, to put it mildly, with a big wart on his nose and beady little eyes under very bushy, almost Neanderthal brows. He was not terribly tall, not nearly as tall as the woman, and, in Wendel’s estimation, this made him look more like a dwarf or troll, rather than a man. The man pulled a long blade, something like a Roman style short sword. Wendel took a step back while the man waved it at him and let loose some equally sharp words from his thick lips and near toothless mouth.

The young woman frowned and with her free hand she forced the blade down. She placed the little girl in the ogre’s hands to keep him occupied, which was a very brave thing to do in Wendel’s estimation, given the man’s appearance, and she stepped forward, speaking soothing words in some unknown tongue. She held out her hand, and Wendel automatically set down his briefcase and laptop and raised his own hand to shake; but she grabbed the hand, and there was a white flash of light, and Wendel got very, very dizzy. He needed to sit down to avoid falling down. The woman also needed to sit down, and she did so, facing him.

“Master of Library Science.” The woman said. “Most wonderful, Superintendent of Schools.” It was like she was testing the words to see how they fit in her mouth and on her tongue and lips.

“What hit me?” Wendel asked, sipping his coffee, which he had miraculously kept upright in his hand. The miracle liquid helped a little.

“I am sorry.” The woman said. “But I have encountered many strange things in your world. Ordinarily, I would have only exchanged my language and yours, but in this place I felt I needed some real knowledge of life – in America.” She sounded so apologetic; Wendel was speechless. Then he understood something incredible.

“You mean you picked up English just by touching my hand? Good God!” He was speechless again.

“I am sorry.” The woman repeated her apology. “I should not have invaded the privacy of your mind, but Library Science was there, seemingly unused, and I believe it may be enough to help me adjust in short order.”

Wendel checked quickly. Library Science was still in his mind as well, so she duplicated the knowledge and did not simply take it. He had a Masters in Library Science, and it was where he was headed to get out of the classroom before he had an opportunity for School Administration. He had been Principal of the Middle School while he worked on his Doctorate in Administration. Then the opportunity came up for the Superintendent’s position, and he jumped at it, fool that he was. “Quite all right.” He said at last and he held out his hand a second time. “Wendel Carter.”

The young woman nodded as if she already knew this; but she shook his hand properly this time. “Arosa. Princess of Nova and Queen of Truscas.”

Wendel paused in mid shake. He knew who she was as well, and he also knew something of her story. Apparently she had willingly shared some of herself with him. So she isn’t a thief or a whack-o, he assured himself. But then, he knew that, and he knew one more thing which maybe Arosa did not yet realize. “We need to get you inside.” He said firmly, looking at the three strangers with new eyes. “You must be exhausted.”

“But you will be late for work.” Arosa protested a little as if ready to apologize for a third time.

“Nonsense.” Wendel countered. “I’m the boss. I’ll yell at myself later.” They stood and Arosa turned to Barten-Cur and Lila.

“Come.” She said. “Now is the time to trust in good fortune.” It was spoken in a language Wendel Carter never learned, but he understood every word.

“Remarkable.” He said in the same language as he helped the young woman up the porch steps. The old retainer and the little girl followed.

Reflections: The Four Rules of Great Writing

August 20, 2009August 20, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

1. Write

2. Start at the beginning of the Story and End at the End.

Don’t start with prologues, introductions or background details. That isn’t the beginning of the story.

At the end, characters may have more to say and more to do, but leave that to the reader. Readers like that. If there is a lot more to be said and done, perhaps there is a second story; but for the first story: Start at the beginning of the Story and End at the End.

3. Great writing is not determined by what you put into it, but by knowing what to leave out.

4. Write your own rules. What works for you?

— Michael

Tales of the Other Earth: Halloween Story 1 M/F Story

August 17, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Wendel Carter loved puttering around the garden in the spring, setting down the mulch, planting flowers out front and vegetables in the back, fertilizing and trimming and setting out stones to keep the grass at bay; not that he grew much grass in the middle of nowhere, Georgia. Still, it was therapy. It kept him from thinking. He knew school politics were bad from his years of teaching, but he never imagined how bad they could get until he accepted the position of Superintendent of Schools for the Browning School System, sadly referred to locally as the BS Schools. That thought made him dig a little deeper.

Gardening was therapy for another reason as well. He paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his graying brow and take a long look at the empty house beside the brook. He tried not to think about it, either. He noticed that the white picket fence out front needed painting, as did the porch on the side of the house. He turned his eyes to consider the little apartment above the garage where his mother used to live before she passed. It needed work as well, but then none of that mattered. It was the emptiness of the house and the emptiness he felt inside that claimed him and drove him to seek solace among the shrubs and flowers. Sandra had been a good wife. He could not have complained on that score, and Missy, his sixteen-year-old daughter had been the beat of his heart. It still choked his throat and made tears well up into his eyes to think that the drunk, driving on the wrong side of the interstate, not only survived the wreck, but only got slapped on the wrist for killing a family – for destroying Wendel’s life and surely shredding his heart. Wendel Carter shook his head and drove his spade into the hard red clay that pretended to be soil. “That was four years ago.” He told himself. “Let it go, man.” He tried to let it go, but he still had a few tears left.

*****

Arosa stepped through the little shimmering hole in the air, holding tight to the sleeping three-year-old whose head snuggled into her shoulder The little scamp was mumbling, but not squirming too badly which was good because Arosa had to hold on to her baby with one hand while her other hand grasped the hand of her faithful retainer, Barten-Cur. The old man’s eyes were wide; fascinated with the prospect of the completely new and unknown world they were entering. He noticed it was three hours before dawn in both places and Arosa knew there was not much to be seen in the dark, but she could not help smiling for the child-like innocence and wonder shown on the face of her retainer; because Barten-Cur’s fascination was truly that of a child, and in that respect he was much like Lila, her sleeping baby. Her father used to say that the man was as loyal as a hunting dog, and almost as smart. Still, he was a powerful man of magic. It had taken both of them and some considerable sweat to open the hole between the worlds.

“My Lady.” Barten-Cur spoke softly as if afraid to disturb the child, or perhaps afraid to make their presence known in this new world of wonder. “You must let me look around first. There is no telling what may be lurking in the shadows. There may be dragons or wolves or mandibar, or even dragons!”

Arosa smiled again. “Look here,” she said, letting go of his hand to place hers on Lila’s back, to comfort the sleeping, dreaming child. They watched the hole they had made slowly close. Soon, it was hardly bigger than a child’s ball, and then a woman’s ring and at last it completely disappeared. “We go together.” Arosa told her manservant. “But you may keep your blade ready just in case.”

Barten-Cur grinned with what teeth he had. He was not usually permitted to carry sharp weapons. Arosa, meanwhile, was straining her other senses as well as she could. To be sure, she was very tired from the ordeal of opening the hole between the worlds, but she was fairly sure she could smell manure, and it smelled like ordinary enough cows. There was a stream nearby, and she imagined they might do worse than following it.

“This is farm country, my Lady.” Barten-Cur confirmed; but Arosa was not sure if that was a good thing. On the one hand, the closeness of people spoke against the nearness of wolves or other predators, but then men could be the worst predators of all when they wanted to be. She imagined they would find out soon enough if these people were friendly to strangers, or not.

Ghosts part 17-END M/F Story

August 14, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 17 END

Mya was the first to arrive back at the scene of the accident. She ran the whole way and was not tired in the least. She never ran in her life before, her foot being the way it was. Now, maybe she was making up for lost time, or at least she never before had such a reason to run, and she grinned at her own thoughts.

She stopped just before she got to the gate and noticed something she had not expected. The young man and the suicide bomber were sitting side by side on the curb, talking quietly. She could not hear what they were saying, and she did not intrude, knowing that would be rude, so she did what she could. She said a little prayer that somehow they might find a way out of the pit they had thrown themselves into – that they might find a solution to the mess they had made of their lives. Her heart went out to them, but she could do no more.

Mya looked down and saw that her high heels had become flats, and she was grateful, knowing that she was going to have to climb up the grassy knoll that held the park bench. She stepped up to the gate and smiled. It was not that long ago she would have had to stand on tip-toes, and even then it would have been hard to open that big, heavy iron gate. Now, she simply reached out, and it was an easy thing to do. As she stepped on to the grass, she was filled with joy and gently closed the gate tight behind her.

She noticed right away that the park bench was taken. The minister was there with his newspaper neatly folded beside him, and she almost clapped to see the burly man beside him. The man’s arm looked fully restored, and most of his face was whole as well. “Thank you, thank you.” She lifted that prayer as well. Clearly, the minister still had some work to do, and just maybe he could add another name to that book of his in heaven. She thought it was good that everyone had someone, and she had Nathan, except right at the moment, she did not have him. She nearly doubled up for want of him, and she cried out.

“Nathan!” When she heard no response she almost collapsed. She screamed, “Nathan!” It was as loud as she could, and then she heard an answering call.

“Mya! Mya!” He had come in the other gate and he was running to her. He was running! Mya jumped and started to run as well, but she did not get far before they were wrapped up in each other’s arms and he was kissing her everywhere on her face, on her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, ears, on the tip of her little nose, and he did not neglect her lips, and she kissed him right back before she finally pressed her head into his chest and shoulder. They were crying, but there were no more sad tears left in them. These were tears of pure joy. They had found each other and they held each other so tight it was almost as if they were trying to absorb each other into the depths of their souls.

“I am so happy. I am so happy.” Mya kept repeating her words into his chest, and he also kept repeating the same phrase.

“I love you. I love you.” He said.

After a while, Nathan took a step back in order to look into Mya’s eyes where there was no hiding that special smile than showed everywhere on her face. Nathan returned her smile as they wrapped up in each other’s arms and kissed for a very, very long time. When the earth began to tremble beneath their feet, they thought it was only a result of what they were feeling. When that trembling increased, though, they thought they had better look. There was a hole opening up on the green between this world and someplace else, and they separated to stand side by side and watch in wonder, though they never quit holding hands.

Neither knew where that other place might be, though they both knew very well. All they could see was a brilliant light, pure and holy so it made them tremble, but warm and inviting so they knew they were welcome. As usual, Mya was the first to speak.

“Perpetual light.” She named it, but it sounded like a question so Nathan responded.

“It is.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Mya asked.

“I do. And how much I love you?”

“I do.” Mya and Nathan squeezed each other’s hands. “But I was thinking, now that I know what love is, do you know how much I love the one who first loved us?”

“Exactly.” Nathan affirmed her feelings and confirmed his own. “With all your mind and all your heart and all your soul and all your strength.”

“That is the first commandment.” Mya said, looking up at Nathan once more, seeking his assurance, just in case.

He nodded for her and that brought out her most radiant smile, and they turned and walked into that perpetual light, side by side and hand in hand, forever.

Ghosts part 15 M/F Story

August 7, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 15

As the mist faded, Mya felt utterly lost and alone. The fact that she found herself in a graveyard did not help one bit. When she looked down, though, she saw it was the grave of her grandfather. There was a space beside him for her grandmother when she died, but Mya knew Grandma was still alive because so far the space was untouched. So why am I here? She asked herself. She could not see anyone around. It was a slow walk in those heels to get to the top of the little hill, but she made it without mishap and there she looked all around and saw that she was not far from a canopy tent. There were chairs set up there, and a little grave with the coffin waiting to be lowered to its final resting place. Mya knew whose grave it was before she saw the stone that would be set up. It was her own, and she tried to cry. She felt she should cry for herself, but she could not cry. She was much too happy about Nathan.

Nathan! That thought ran through her head like a shot. She had to get back to him, but just then cars began to pull up on the narrow, one-way gravel drive. People were getting out and coming to the graveside. Mya recognized a couple of her childhood friends, her best friends, her only friends. As a child with a crippled foot, she did not have many friends, and that almost did bring a tear to her eye.

Then she saw her mother and she ran to her, almost stumbling once because of the heels. That caused her to think before acting, and in the end she decided to accompany her mother from a little distance and again she nearly cried because she wanted a hug so badly.

She stood a step back and watched the others come. Her relatives sat in the chairs. The others stood, making nearly a full circle around her little grave. Then the priest came and he talked about the love of God. She knew that was true, absolutely, and she lifted up her heart to the almighty in thanksgiving for Nathan, and she realized then what Nathan had already figured out in the bathroom; that this whole thing was a set-up from the beginning. That God knew all along that she and Nathan belonged together, but they never would have met if she had not missed the school bus, and they never would have even been close unless they died.

“Thank you.” She cried out to God. “Thank you.” And she felt then and there that she truly loved God even as he loved her and she felt warm and unafraid and never alone. Still, she understood that for those gathered around the grave, these were hard words to hear. If only she could tell them. If only she could assure them of God’s love; but then she knew that they would learn some day, even as she had, and she prayed for every one of them that was sitting and standing there.

She heard the priest talk about perpetual light, and she thought of the angel who glowed so brightly she could hardly look upon him, and again she felt the love of God flow through her, and she reciprocated and loved God all the more, and then all at once she understood something she had not quite understood before.

The priest gave the benediction and Mya drew near to her mother, and she spoke, even knowing that her mother could not hear her. “Mother.” She said. “I know what love is. Mother. Do you understand? You did a wonderful job. You have nothing to be sad about. I know what love is, Mother. God is love. I am all grown up now, Mother, and God has given me the most wonderful man in the whole world to love. And I do love him, Mother, with all of my heart, but first I loved you, only I did not understand what that was.” Mya paused and reached out toward her mother’s face, but she did not touch. All the same she saw her mother turn briefly to look in her direction. “First with you, and now with Nathan, I know what love is, Mother. God is love.” And Mya watched while Sam, Mother’s friend, came up and placed his hand gently on her mother’s shoulder.

“Sam.” Mother reached up and patted that hand and then left her hand there as if not wanting him to go away. “She would have made a beautiful woman.” Mother said. “I can almost see her all grown up and all filled out.” Mother tilted her head to the side a little the way Mya did once and though she was not looking at Mya she spoke this way: “I see her in a purple sundress and lavender heels to match, and she is lovely. No, she is beautiful.”

“I am so sorry.” Sam said as Mya leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. Mother paused and put her hand to her cheek and then began to weep as Sam helped her back to her feet. Mya watched while Sam escorted her to the waiting limo, and Mya finally cried for her mother. She knew her mother was only twenty-seven and Sam was not much older. She hoped and prayed that they would be good for each other and she hoped and prayed that her mother would never forget about love.

“You did I good job, Mother.” Mya repeated herself. “I know what love is.” Then the cars pulled off and Mya thought to run. She pulled her heels off to run faster because she knew where Nathan would be and she felt if she did not see him soon, she would burst for the love of him.

Ghosts part 14 M/F Story

August 3, 2009M G Kizzia Leave a comment

Series: Strange Tales Story: Ghosts by M Kizzia part 14

When the morning came, Nathan was the first to wake. He did not think anything special and did not immediately remember the past couple of days, being in his own bed and in his own place. He did wonder, though, who this immensely comfortable female creature was that was snuggled so tight against him. He heard her let out a little sigh or sound of utter contentment and it prompted him to look down. She had the most radiant, raven hair that came back easily to his hand and that revealed a face that was absolutely stunning with high, thin brows and rosy cheeks, long dark lashes which somehow he knew covered big, beautiful brown eyes. She had a little nose and sweet little ears and wonderfully luscious thick lips, but not too thick, he thought. Then he looked further and let his hand run down her back. She was young and masterfully made, slim in all the right places and well toned, and all her curves were perfect in every way, and she had the most utterly gorgeous bumps. He sat up like a rocket. Mya opened her eyes slowly at first. Nathan hopped out of bed and grabbed the clothes he had set on the back of the chair.

“So is it that bad?” He heard Mya ask, but he had already shut himself in the bathroom and he was trying to get his racing heart to calm down. He could not help looking in the mirror. He looked to his own eyes to be about twenty-four, or anyway, not over twenty-five. He looked at the back of his hand and there were no spots or wrinkles, and not even a hint of such things. The skin was firm, but with the elasticity of youth. And he had abs, and a perfect hairless chest, and he could not help lifting his arm and making a muscle; but then all that time he was wondering if Mya would like it. He could not stop thinking about her. She was perfect. She was almost too perfect.

There was a knock on the door. “So was it that bad?” Mya asked through the doorway.

“No.” He shouted back. “It was that good.” It was too good. It frightened him, and what he was feeling frightened him even more. He was not going to be able to hold out very long. If he thought Mya was beautiful, absolutely attractive and sexy at eighteen, that could hardly describe what he thought now that she was twenty-two. Anyway, she was certainly over twenty-one. “I’ll be right out, and it was perfect, only I think we need to get dressed.” Nathan put his ear to the door for fear that he might hear her start crying again. He breathed because of the silence, and then he dressed in his slacks and polo shirt, not even realizing that the suit was gone. Then he had a thought and promptly accused God. “You knew this from the beginning. You set this up. How could you?” He did not expect an answer, but he felt now that him being eighty-four and her being seven should no longer be an obstacle. In fact, it took a second for him to remember how old he had been and how old she had been.

There was another knock. “Are you coming out?” Mya was getting impatient.

“Hold on.” He said. He looked in the mirror again. He looked twenty-four and felt twenty-four, and he was thinking like a twenty-four year old and could hardly help it considering what was waiting for him in the other room; and then he realized that he was acting like a twenty-four year old as well, locked in the bathroom, scared out of his wits by the beauty of the woman.

He opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, mercifully dressed in a purple sundress with white flowers. Mya stood right up and he saw that the dress was quite short, and she was standing in high heels. Along with everything else, he was not surprised that she had incredible legs, and those heels. He bit his lower lip and noticed she was biting hers, looking at him with big eyes filled with trepidation.

“You look spectacular.” He said in complete honesty except for thinking that the word spectacular was not good enough so he added the word, “Awesome.”

Mya reached out and grabbed him by the arm. Only his head had been sticking out the door. She pulled him all of the way into the room and said, “Wow!” and rather loudly, and she made him turn around once so she could get the full view. “That does it, I don’t care what you say. You are my boyfriend and I am your girlfriend whether you like it or not. If I so much as catch another girl looking at you I’ll poke her eyes out.” Her mouth was open that whole time and Nathan had to reach out and tap it closed.

“Scratch.” Nathan said. “Women scratch each other’s eyes out.”

“That too.” Mya said with that irresistible smile and she stepped up, right into his arms. What could he do but hold her? She certainly did not mind. He noticed that barefoot, Mya topped out at his chin, but in these heels her eyes came up to where he could kiss both eyelids without bending in the least. He did that, and watched her flush. She pulled in closer, if that was possible, and raised her lips. He met her half way, and he was thinking all sorts of terrible, wonderful thoughts when he remembered her again as a child. He broke it off and broke free, turning his back like when he turned to the sink. He knew the issue of their ages was a sham. He had no excuse there. It seemed on that score they were designed for each other, and judging by her reaction to him, he imagined on looks they were equally designed for each other, and he knew in terms of compatibility, they were also designed for each other. He was already reading how she felt about things. It was how he felt. And he understood the way she thought because that too was how he thought. Yet there was one other thing, a small thing perhaps, but very important.

“No.” He said. He was shaking his head sharply in denial. “It’s just. I can’t.” He paused because even he knew that was not true. He could so very, very easily. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.” He did not say anything about his own feelings of inadequacy. He hurt his mother when he married a Baptist. He failed to make Mildred happy. He failed with Lisa. He hurt and failed with every woman who ever loved him, and likely ever person who loved him. He would rather die than hurt Mya. He did not say these things, but it was in his voice. When he said “I just want you to be happy,” he might as well have added, “And I don’t believe that I am able to do that.”

Mya sat on the edge of the bed and sniffed just once. “But that is all I want, too.” She responded. “I mean, I just want you to be happy.” She sounded utterly sincere before her voice took on the sound of determination. “And I feel if the only way I can make you happy is to go away, then I will go away.” She sounded sniffly again with those last words, and then Nathan heard her crying, but softly, as if she was trying to hide it.

Nathan spun around to face her. “No. Don’t do that. That isn’t what I meant.” He lifted Mya from the bed so she could stand and face him, and he held tight to both of her hands while she sniffed back the tears and looked into his eyes. “I don’t ever want you to leave me. I would die if you left.” He was serious. He was afraid to be with her, certainly in that way, but he knew he could not live without her. “Please stay.” Nathan pleaded and he almost got to his knees to say it, and then he really looked at her and he saw the slow spread of Mya’s lips until she was grinning at him like the Cheshire Cat. Nathan pulled back a little to look sternly in Mya’s eyes.

“I was hoping you would say that.” She spoke through her grin. “I really, really wanted you to say that.”

“Why you…” Nathan had to think for a second to come up with just the right word to get his revenge. “Why you woman.” He concluded and with that word, he surrendered.

Mya stepped up a little and put her arms up on his shoulders, clasping her hands around the back of his neck while he dropped his hands to her slim waist and slowly found them encircling the small of her back.

“You’re a Pinocchio, sort of.” Nathan said, now grinning as broadly as Mya. Mya laughed just a little, and it was no child’s giggle but a wonderful, warm and tender genuinely grown-up laugh. And she nodded.

And all this time they remained locked in eye contact. Then all at once the smiles vanished and Mya’s lips parted ever so slightly and they drew in to each other just as tight as they could and they kissed. Mya kissed him, not like a little girl might kiss her grandfather or even as a daughter might kiss her father, but as a woman who was absolutely and completely in love with this young man; and Nathan kissed her back like a vital young man who remembered, no, knew for certain what it was like to be on fire for the woman he loved. It was perfect, and they might have remained that way forever if not for the tug.

The lips parted first so they could look into each other’s eyes and note that they both felt some sort of tug on their backs. It came again, stronger than before, and became a steady pulling that wanted to separate them, pulling them in opposite directions, away from each other, and it was growing in strength. At first, they clung to each other and tried to hold on, but the pulling became too much to resist. They held each other by the shoulders, then the elbows, then the hands as the room around them began to fade away to be replaced by a kind of gray fog. As they grasped hands in mid air, their legs straight out behind them pulling ever so hard, struggling equally hard to hang on to each other, Nathan finally called her for the first time by name.

“Mya!” And they parted, speeding up as Mya was pulled away, and she screamed her response.

“Nathan!” and it echoed in the mist.